Free Call the Shots by Don Calame Page B

I don’t hold myself up to the same lofty standards as you kids. Although, Seanie my boy, I’m afraid you will not be getting off completely scot-free where drugs are concerned.”
    I look from Matt to Coop, like maybe I’ve missed something. “I’m sorry, what?”
    “When I meet my maker,” Doug says. “It’s in the will. I’m to be cremated and then the ashes are to be rolled up, passed around, and smoked by the whole family. No exceptions. If you want your inheritance, you take a toke. I’ve got so much THC in my bones, everyone should get a pretty heady buzz.” He howls with laughter before licking his fingertips and carefully squeezing out the glowing tip of the joint. “Would you guys take a seat? You’re making me nervous.”
    Coop leaps in first, spinning one of the empty chairs around and sitting on it backward.
    “So, what kind of business are you in, Mr. Burrows?” Coop asks.
    Matt and me pull out the other two chairs and take our seats.
    “Uncle Doug, please,” he says. “If I’m Uncle Doug to the ladies at the bank, and to the guys at the 7-Eleven, and to my dope dealer, then I’m
definitely
Uncle Doug to Sean’s pals.”
    “Okay. Uncle Doug.” Coop suppresses a smile, like the words don’t feel natural on his lips. “So, are you, like, a stockbroker or something?”
    “Rugs,” Uncle Doug says. “You’ve seen the Doug’s Rugs commercials on TV?”
    “Oh, my God,” Matt says.
“Fit it tight, Fit it snug. A rug from Doug’s is a big warm hug.”
    “I’ll give you one guess as to who Doug is.” Uncle Doug winks at us, then busts up laughing as he takes a slurp on his soda.
    “That’s cool,” Coop says. “It must be sweet to be your own boss.”
    “It’s a situation I highly recommend.” He taps a cigarette from a blue pack of American Spirits and lights it with a Sabres Zippo. “All right, enough with the niceties. I know you didn’t come all the way out here on the shittiest day of the year to talk to Uncle Doug about what he does for a living. So, what the hell do you want?” He takes a drag on his cigarette and releases the smoke. “Are we changing your amplifier repayment schedule or what? Ten bucks a week for the next two years too much of a burden on your allowance? Come on, spit it out.”
    All of sudden, I don’t want to ask him for the money anymore. It feels wrong. Like I’m taking advantage or something.
    “Well?” Doug says. “Let’s have it. The cat got your tongue or what?” He flicks the ash off his cigarette, and it tumbles down the mountain of butts piled in the ashtray.
    “Nothing,” I say. “We don’t want anything. We just —”
    I feel Coop kick my ankle under the table.
    I take a deep breath. “Okay, that’s not completely true.” My voice comes out a little squeaky. “I mean, we did want to see you but . . . there’s something else we needed to ask you.”
    “I’m all ears.” He takes another drag on his cigarette.
    I press my sweaty palms into my thighs. “Okay, so, you know how Mom’s pregnant?”
    “What?” Doug reels backward. “My sister’s
pregnant
? Are you shitting me? When the hell did
that
happen? And why is Uncle Doug the last one to hear about this?”
    Every inch of my skin prickles with heat. “I — I thought,” I stammer. “I just assumed . . . I mean . . . You really didn’t know?”
    “Ha!” Doug points at me with the two fingers that hold his cigarette. “Gotcha! You always were a little too easy to screw with, Seanie.” He cocks his head. “Come on, now. You really think your mother wouldn’t tell Uncle Doug that she was having a baby?”
    I breathe a supreme sigh of relief. “No. Yeah.” I force a smile. “You got me for sure.”
    “That was damn good.” Coop laughs. “Even
I
was convinced. And that’s from the baron of bull. Forget about rugs — you should have been an actor.”
    “Funny you should mention that,” Uncle Doug says. “I did contemplate that once upon a time. Way